


Vectors

by quailbutt



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: College AU, I was in treatment and my friend had an awful family therapy so I wrote this to make her feel better, M/M, Superfamily, Superhusbands, guys i can't make writes, just shoot me ok, might as well just put all my cards on the table now, seriously, wow guys i'm so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quailbutt/pseuds/quailbutt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scientific documentary of Steve and Tony's non-relationship, thank you very much, and how it ends up turning into one that might be some kind of Freudian complex, or maybe just a really, really unhealthy tango involving copius amounts of denial, alcohol, and sarcasm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vectors

**Author's Note:**

> Witty disclaimer on my non-ownership of everything

Tony set his books down on the table, approximately one point three feet from Steve Rodgers. Not that he was measuring or anything, though; if he had actually been trying, then he would have used metric. Raking a slow inhale, he rifled through the pages of his calculus textbook. "Mmm," he sighed happily. "Vectors."  
He had his head down on his open political science textbook--a chapter of Machiavelli's The Prince, its influences on communism, and, oh, just lovely, the rest was obscured by Steve's face. "What do you want?" he moaned, speaking into the spine of the book.  
"Well, I typically have a few questions for people who try to eat my face off at one thirty in the morning." He paused for effect, letting that sink in.   
It was all in the delivery, honest to god.   
"Actually," Tony continued, "I don't usually, you know, but considering that you aren't a hot, half-nude co-ed covered in glitter and or rave juice, I do." Another pause. "Have questions, that is." Suave, Stark. So fucking suave.   
'More like 'so fucking Steve', a distant, masochistic corner of his brain interjected.   
"Please go away."   
"On the contrary," Tony said brightly, unsheathing his graphing calculator. "I intend to stay and chat a while." He gestured at the half-filled, well-lit room around them. "It's the dorm's common area, my friend."   
Steve grimaced into the book. "I never thought you'd voluntarily be seen with me in public." He detached his face from Machiavelli's.  
There was a tiny splotch of ink on one of his cheekbones, back near his ear. It was distracting. "Well, I never thought you'd try to rip my lower lip off my face at an ungodly hour of the morning, so at least we have something in common to talk about." Out, out, damn spot, Tony though frantically. It's not endearing. Drool and sleepies and smudges on faces aren't endearing.   
Whiskers on kittens. That's endearing. Okay, we're in the clear.   
'Sex kitten,' said the sadistic part of Tony's brain.   
'Jesus fucking Christ', Tony thought in return.  
'Jesus fucking Judas,' it argued. Tony decided to let the issue drop.   
Steve sighed, going back to underlining passages of text with light pencil marks. "I did not attempt to chew your lower lip off," he said flatly.  
"My palate begs to differ."  
"Does it really?" Steve expressed exaggerated surprise. "Last thing I heard, your palate couldn't comprehend much beyond cosmopolitans--"  
"Do I really seem like that kind of guy?" Tony took on an affect of genuine curiosity.  
"--and Banner's genitalia," Steve finished off, only slightly smug.   
"Wow," Tony said thoughtfully. "Does everyone know about that?"   
Steve flipped a page of his book--venomously, Tony would have liked to think. "More or less." A terse pause. "'Science buddies', my ass. "  
'Very fine,' Sadistic Brain interjected. 'It's very fine, that ass, and you know it.'  
"That was one time," Tony argued, without any real conviction.   
He raised an eyebrow. "It was more like five.   
He knows it too, SB added. He knows his ass is fine--  
"Anyway," Tony stated, with relish. "I'd rather gt back to the topic at hand." Or at least the one I want to be at hand, Jesus Christ--  
"Which is?" Steve turned another page.   
"The little fandango your face had with my face last night." He cleared his throat. "This morning. Whatever.  
"The what?" Steve actually turned to eye Tony incredulously.   
He sighed, exasperated. "You know, 'sacramouche, sacramouche, can you do the fandango--"  
"No."   
"Thunderbolts of lightning, very very frightening--"  
"No."  
Tony glared at him. "You're supremely irritating, o spangled, frozen one."  
"What do you want, Stark?" Desperation was evident. "A repeat performance?" And sarcasm, apparently.   
He cleared his throat, again. "How about no? I'd rather my face not be mauled by rabid, flamboyant jungle beasts, thanks--"  
"Stop beating around the fucking bush, Stark."  
Oh, Steve Rodgers had no idea of precisely which bush Tony wanted to be beating around.  
"All right," he said, both eyebrows raised and lips pursed slightly. "Just curious, you know, as to why you tried to eat my tonsils out of my throat with a spork."   
Steve slammed his textbook shut. "I was slightly intoxicated. You were there." He stood, motions sharp, and stalked away, down the dorm hallways.   
"You kiss like a nursing ewe in heat," Tony called after him.  
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your shift on the corner of West and 109th?" Steve yelled back over his shoulder, drawing the general attention of the room.  
"Hm, touche," Tony said to himself.   
'You just want to fuck him,' Sadistic Brain said.  
"Shut up," Tony replied absently.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written solely out of boredom. Please do not hate me forever.


End file.
